Chapter 5

Letty’s POV

Seven years is a long time to run from a place and still feel its pull.

I learned that the hard way.

For seven years, I convinced myself I was healed. I told myself the pain no longer mattered. I told myself I had moved on from the girl who walked out of the Wells Mansion with a broken heart and a secret growing quietly inside her. I said I was stronger now. Wiser and free.

And in many ways, I truly was.

Life had not been kind, but it had been fair. I studied culinary arts abroad, surviving on little sleep and strong coffee. I worked long hours in hot kitchens, my hands burned, my feet aching, my back stiff with exhaustion. There were nights I cried alone, leaning against stainless steel counters when no one was watching.

I learned how to speak up, how to fight for my place, how to command respect in rooms where people doubted me because of my age and gender. I learned how to fail without breaking and how to rise without looking back.

Two years ago, I became the CEO of a five-star restaurant. Sometimes, I still couldn’t believe it.

That shy girl who once hid behind books in a mansion that never truly felt like home had built something of her own. Something and real.

But my greatest achievement was not my career, It was Andre.

My son.

The child I never planned for, yet the one who saved me in ways words could never fully explain.

And then there was Andre.

My son.

When Andre came into my life, everything changed. He gave my days meaning and my nights purpose. For him, I learned how to be brave. For him, I learned how to smile again without it hurting. I made a promise the day I held him for the first time, a promise to give him a life full of love, safety, and honesty. And I kept that promise until the past came knocking.

I was in my office that afternoon, sorting through files and schedules, reviewing staff rosters and upcoming reservations. The restaurant was busy, as always, and I was used to the constant noise of responsibility.

Then my phone buzzed on the desk. I picked it up without much thought, expecting a message from my assistant or the kitchen manager.

But it was from my mother.

I froze the moment I read it.

“Come back home, Letty. It’s your father. He is gone. The funeral will be held in two weeks.”

My breath left me in one sharp rush.

Micheal Wells was dead.

The man who took us in and gave my mother a second chance at happiness. The Alpha of the pack and the man whose house held both my deepest pain and my sweetest memories.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the screen as if the words might change if I looked away but hey didn’t.

Two weeks.

That meant I had no choice.

I had to go back.

All the memories I had buried so carefully began to rise. The halls, the silence, the rules and Mason.

My heart beat faster at the thought of him, but I pushed it down quickly. I was no longer that girl. I am a woman now. An independent mother, stronger than the past that once broke me. The past no longer had power over me.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

The rest of the week passed in a blur. I rescheduled meetings, handed responsibilities to trusted staff, and made sure my restaurant would run smoothly while I was gone. At night, I packed quietly, folding clothes with steady hands even when my chest felt tight.

Andre watched me closely.

“Mom,” he asked one night, sitting cross legged on the bed, “are we going somewhere?”

“Yes,” I said softly. “We’re going to visit my old home.”

“Is it far?” he asked.

“Very far,” I replied, smiling faintly.

He nodded like that was an adventure, not a return to a place I once escaped from.

When the day came, I booked the flight and held Andre’s hand through the airport. It still didn’t feel real. I had left alone all those years ago, carrying fear and hope in equal measure. Now I was returning with my son beside me.

This time, I wasn’t running.

When we arrived, I drove the rented car up the familiar road, my hands tightening on the steering wheel as the iron gates of the Wells Mansion came into view. The wind carried the scent of pine trees and freshly cut grass.

I had almost forgotten that smell.

The gates slowly rolled open, just like they used to, and I let out a deep breath as I drove inside.

The car stopped, and for a long second, I just sat there.

Then Andre’s door opened, and he hopped out, his small shoes touching the ground with excitement and uncertainty. I stepped out too and reached for his hand. He squeezed mine tightly.

“Ready?” I asked softly.

He nodded, though his eyes were wide as he stared at the massive house before us.

Together, we walked toward the entrance.

The moment we stepped inside, hurried footsteps echoed through the hall.

“You are back.” Catherine, my mother , shook as she hurried toward us. I barely had a second to open my arms before my mother pulled me into a hug. She held me tight, as if afraid I would disappear again. I wouldn’t blame her because it has been 7 years since she last saw me, we only talked on the phone.

“It’s been a long time, my baby girl,” Catherine whispered, her breath trembling.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the warmth sink in. Despite everything, despite the years and the silence, my mother still felt like home, but as we slowly pulled apart, Catherine’s eyes shifted and landed on Andre standing beside me and her expression froze.

She was shocked and confused as a question formed in her mind, but I saw it immediately.

“Well, Mom, this is Andre,” I said calmly and gave Andre’s hand a soft squeeze. “My son and your grandson.”

Catherine’s mouth opened a little, emotions flickering across her face so quickly that I couldn’t even count them. Surprise, disbelief and a hint of hurt and then curiosity.

But, I knelt beside Andre and fixed the collar of his shirt gently.

“Andre, sweetheart,” I said, smiling warmly at him, “this is Grandma and what do we say?”

Andre blinked, then straightened up with an adorable seriousness as he gave a polite bow of his head and greeted Catherine just as I had taught him. It was soft but confident.

“Good afternoon, Grandma, it’s nice to meet you.”

Catherine’s heart melted instantly and a small breath left her lips, she touched her hand to her chest as if the sight overwhelmed her, then she looked down at him, then back at Elena. A hundred unspoken questions filled her eyes.

Even after the introduction, even after Andre’s sweet greeting, Catherine stood there staring at him as though trying to understand how a whole child had grown up without her knowledge.

I had never mentioned Andre in any of our calls, not once, and Catherine had called many times over the years about my studies and about my health. Sometimes even about my future plans, but I had always kept her answers short and always careful. And before I left the country, there had been no hint of me carrying a child or at least none that Catherine ever knew of.

Catherine finally found her voice.

“What about his father?” she asked softly, almost in a whisper and as if afraid of the answer.

I paused as the air shifted around us, then I gave a small smile, one that hid pain beneath its softness.

“Well, his father is no longer in the picture,” I said simply.

Catherine felt it immediately, the hurt behind the calm tone, so she didn’t push it further. Instead, she gently knelt and embraced Andre with open arms.

“Welcome home, Andre,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

He hugged her back shyly.

As I watched them, my chest tightening.

There were so many things I wished I could explain but one thing was sure, I was never ashamed of Andre, not for a single second.

But I had wanted him far away from the world I grew up in, the world of power, of unspoken battles, silent threats, and secrets that destroyed people from inside out. I had left for a reason, a reason I never told anyone about, but now, here I was again.

My mom pulled back and gave me a warm smile, but the peace didn’t last long, as another question came, this one soft but cutting. “Have you heard from Mason? He seems pretty torn up with the whole situation.”

I froze. It was a name I hadn't heard in years, even when Catherine would call, I would never ask about him.

My breath caught for a moment.

“No,” I answered quietly. “I haven’t spoken to him.”

Catherine sighed, touching my cheek gently.

“He has been asking about you, you know ,” she said. “I think he worries about you more than he lets anyone know.”